Resolution
by Simon920
Summary: Nightwing is captured by Two-face. Not good. Rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimers: These guys aren't mine, they don't belong to me, worst luck, so don't bother me.

Archive: Fine, but if you want it, please ask first.

Feedback: Hell, yes.

**Resolution**

"Master Bruce, forgive me, Master Dick is on the line."

The lights didn't wake him, nor did Alfred's voice. It took his shoulder actually being shaken to do the trick. "Would you take a message?" Bruce was in bed for the first time in three days, he was tired, he was sore, he was in a bad mood and the light hurt his eyes.

"I really think you should take this, sir. He wishes to speak to Batman."

F'God'ssake. This had better be good. He semi sat up, the covers falling down to below his navel. "Yes?"

"Yeah, hi, it's me."

"And?"

"I'm sitting here talking with Harvey and he thought it would be a good idea to call you. He says that since he hasn't seen either of us for a while he'd like to get together, all three of us."

"Harvey...Dent?"

"Um-hmm. We sort of bumped into one another a couple of days ago and he's been telling me how much he misses you. I've told him how busy you are—right Harvey?—but he's just not going to take no for an answer." Bruce heard the tension in Dick's voice.

"Where would he like to meet up?"

"Harvey, you were talking about Batman coming here, right? 'Think you can make it?"

"How long have you two been talking?" Bruce sat up straighter, fully awake and wishing he had more information; he hadn't even heard that Harvey was out of Arkham; according to his reports every prisoner was in their cells and accounted for. Unless he missed something but that never happened—he was Batman. Lack of sleep wasn't ever an acceptable excuse but it might be a factor and why wasn't he informed that Dick was missing? Not acceptable.

"A while now, right Harvey? Maybe three days, having a great visit and really having a good talk but..."

Dick's voice stopped abruptly replaced by the sound of something, someone being punched, sounds of grunting and pain. "'Enough niceties. 'You want to see your old partner, get your ass to pier 37 at the yacht basin in twenty minutes. Alone. No cops, no reporters, no JLA or anyone else. Alone."

"Rogers Yacht Basin?"

The line was dead.

Twelve minutes later he pulled up to the basin, left the car at the entrance and ran the rest of the way, staying in the shadows as he approached pier thirty-seven. It was empty, no boat, nothing anchored, no people, nothing. Unless he was being hidden, Dick wasn't here, assuming that he wasn't floating...

Going closer he saw it, hidden behind a piling, a small package on the dock. Closer—it was about the size of a shoe box, wrapped in some fabric, maybe part of an old blanket. Closer. He scanned the area both with his naked eyes and night vision, nothing, no one. Taking a chance he carefully nudged the package with a long gaff he'd lifted off a gear chest.

An edge of paper showed under the fabric.

Slowly, carefully he maneuvered it clear and dragged it closer.

An envelope.

He used the long pole to turn it over, examine it then pulled it close enough to touch. It seemed harmless though he kept his gloves in place. Opening the envelope he pulled the single folded page out and made out the message in the low light.

_'Cat and mouse. I play, you play and we see who claims the prize. Your move.'_

There was a photo of Dick—Nightwing—tied and in obvious distress. Blood, probably dried blood was smeared on his face, his mask was gone. He'd been beaten though it didn't look too bad, at least not yet. There was nothing to indicate where he was being held, at least at first look. The picture was a close up, little of the background showing and what he could see looked like as generic a painted white sheet-rocked wall as could be found. The light was over bright or perhaps the picture was overexposed and showed the shadows around Dick's eyes, stress and exhaustion clearly visible.

A copy of today's Gotham Gazette, date clearly visible, was next to Dick; the picture wasn't too old.

Picking up the box he opened it easily. Inside were Nightwing's gloves, utility pockets empty.

Underneath was another note.

_'Round one to me.'_

There was nothing else. Over the next couple of hours he made the initial search; his check showed no fingerprints or DNA. The security cameras which might have picked up someone making the package drop were disabled. If there had been any witnesses, he was unable to find them.

Picking up the phone he hit Gordon's number on speed dial, it was answered within the first ring. Have you had any...?"

The Commissioner interrupted, "A package was just brought to my office a couple of minutes ago. Do you me to wait until you get here to open it?"

"I'll see you in five minutes."

In fact it was less than three and a half minutes later that Batman was standing in the office. "Has anyone done anything with this yet?" It was another shoe box sized package, wrapped in brown shipping paper and addressed to 'Commissioner James Gordon, c/o Gotham Police Headquarters, Gotham City—Personal and Private'

"It's been x-rayed, nothing suspicious or dangerous showed and it's been tested for foreign substances; it's clear on all the initial findings. I suggest that we take it down to the munitions lab and open this behind a shield, just in case."

Batman didn't really think that was necessary but declined to argue, there was no point in being fool hardy and antagonizing Jim. A couple of minutes later they were in the second sub-basement, standing behind a thick pane of acrylic, the package being opened by robot manipulation. There was another note inside the outer wrapping which they brought out, opened and, '_I feel terrible that anyone would worry about Nightwing. He's unharmed, fed and comfortable. He'll be home soon.'_

Batman and Gordon exchanged a look. This was the sane side of Two Face but that could change in the bat of an eye.

"What's in the box?"

Gordon gave a nod to one of the technicians to open the box. Inside were two escrima sticks.

"Nightwing's?"

Batman nodded, picking them up without smearing any prints which might have been on them and pointed to a discoloration on the end of one. "This is blood."

"His?"

"Find out."

The stick was handed over to forensics, checked for fingerprints (there were none) and the blood—yes, it was blood—was typed. Dick's. He'd check further, check for a DNA match but Batman was sure it would just confirm what they both knew.

Dick, Nightwing, was being held by Harvey Dent, AKA Two-Face, he was is serious danger and needed help to get free.

Batman, The Titans and the JLA now had a new priority.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

T

**Part Two**

Word went out quickly, the Titans, the JLA and various police departments and law enforcements were notified, many of them calling to ask what they could do to help.

Alfred made a point of calling Bludhaven's police, the young master's precinct, to explain that there was a family emergency and Officer Grayson would be unavailable for a few days. 'Deepest apologies and he would make up any lost time and be in touch.

"How the hell did he escape fro Arkham and why weren't we informed?" Speedy was leaning against the main computer console in the cave, his left hip resting on the desk.

"He bribed the guards, substituted another prisoner from minimum security who was also bribed or threatened to fill his spot, everyone looked the other way and he bought himself a few days head start."

"Christ—what idiot let that happen?"

There was no need to answer; they both knew the jails were beyond corrupt despite Commissioner Gordon's extensive efforts to clean up that part of the penal system.

"Fine, whatever, who else is on this and why are we just standing around here?"

"The JLA is on alert but they're busy with that tsunami in Asia and the flooding crisis in the Near East. They'll do what they can and are checking their individual contacts but we can't expect much immediate help from that side. I assume that you have the other Titans on this?"

"And the Outsiders but they're all in the middle of their own problems." He held up his hands to ward off the expected Batglare and butt shredding. "I know, okay? And they all know, too—this is Dick we're talking about and they'll do what they can when they can. Nothing so far aside from what we already know; Dick is being held and was likely taken two days ago. Surveillance cameras in Bludhaven showed him being shot by a tranquilizer dart from a van of some kind while he was riding his bike—we found the remains and are running tests on what drug or drugs were in the hypo. He slowed his bike enough to not be killed when he lost consciousness, he may have been injured by the fall and was picked up by the van which fired at him on Route 61 about three in the morning."

"The van?"

"Stolen plates and the van itself was found in an empty lot burned and gutted. No evidence, no prints, no DNA. The VIN was scratched out and no numbers were able to be recovered from the engine or any other parts." Speedy waited for comment, when none came he spoke again. "Do _you _have any leads on where Dick may be?"

"I suspect that he's being moved, not kept in just one place. I've already checked Harvey's usual hangouts and two show evidence of recent use but were empty. I've also begun checking to see if he's working with any other known criminals but haven't anything concrete yet."

"Do we know why he took Dick? Is this personal or was it was a lucky get?"

"Obviously there's history there."

"...So you don't know"

"Not specifically, no."

Batman admitting that he doesn't know something? Impressive and maybe due to the fact that the man hadn't slept in maybe three or four days which wasn't exactly a help right now; he'd have to remember to tell Dick when they got him back. "Any more communications?"

"This came in about an hour ago." Bruce handed a folded note to Roy, it looked like any generic word document using Times New Roman set at a 14 size font and using black ink.

_'I'm disappointed in you, Batman. We're now in our third day and young Nightwing, nee Robin is still my guest. _

_Slipping a bit, are you?_

_I enclose the latest for your amusement._

_Best regards,_

_Harvey'_

"Enclosure?"

Bruce handed over the digital photo, blown up to 8 X 10 inches and in full color. It was Dick, now missing his gloves, mask and shirt. He's been beaten by the look of him; his face was bruised and swollen, his chest showed the effects of probable boot kicks and there was a dried smear of blood from a split on his cheek which looked like it should have been stitched but wasn't. His left eye was shut. The day's newspaper was sitting beside him, date clearly visible. The background told them nothing. "This note is from Harvey, not Two-Face, it was found on the sidewalk outside Gotham Precinct house number seven."

Roy nodded in agreement. "He sounds fairly sane."

"Until he isn't."

"And then Dick will have a bigger problem than he already does." Roy pushed himself to his feet. "I'll let you know when we have something. Keep in touch."

An hour later a call from the Commissioner came through on the Batphone. "Batman, I have Two-Face for you, please stand by." There was a long few seconds of electronic sounds as the call was placed on conference call from Gordon's office in GCPD.

Jim said Two-Face, not Harvey Dent.

"So are you going to pick up the kid or not? I've given you more than enough clues to find him—what, he on your nerves as much as he is on mine, you don't want him back?"

"Two-Face, would you tell me if Nightwing is all right?"

"Have you ever noticed that there are two of him like there are two of me? Two-Face and Harvey, Nightwing and Robin. Two of him, two of me."

"Nightwing is just Robin grown up. He's just one person, Two-Face."

"...He's a pain in the ass if he's an entire platoon and he's pissing me off so I think you should come get him."

"Absolutely, where is he? I'll be there as soon as I can."

They heard laughter. "Like I'd fall for that. 'You want him, you figure it out, Mr. Hot-shit Bat."

"Two-Face, would you let me speak to Harvey?"

"Go screw. 'Forgetting that I was a DA? I know how you work, I know how you think and I know how the department and Gordon work. Solve your own problems and don't count on that milk toast Dent to help you." There was a pause for a moment. "'You want to talk to him?"

"If you don't mind."

In the background they could hear 'Say something' followed by the sounds of fists hitting flesh which was accompanied by grunts and sounds of barely controlled pain. "I don't think he wants to talk right now."

The connection was cut. "Commissioner?"

"A moment...the trace went to a cell phone, a number that's not supposed to be in service. 'Probably stolen. 'Sorry, Batman, is there anything we can do?"

"...Keep me informed."

"Of course."

The only real hope was to talk to Harvey, not Two-Face. They had to appeal to his sense of decency and reason—if they could and if that wasn't possible then they simply had to out smart him, get Dick back and hope like hell that it wasn't too late.

"Master Bruce, any word?"

"No, not yet." That was too unfeeling, he tried again. "He'll be all right, he's been through things like this before, he'll be fine."

Alfred nodded without conviction. "Of course he will."

Bruce stopped him before he could leave the room. "Don't you believe me?"

"Yes, of course I do it's just that we've been in this position, or similar ones so often that it's become almost normal and I fear that's when such events become the most dangerous."

How...odd. "What do you mean?"

"Once insanity becomes the usual how do we know madness when we see it?"

"Do you mean Dent's madness?" Is that what Alfred was getting at? It wasn't like him to talk in circles when he had something on his mind.

"Does it matter to whom I'm referring, Bruce? It's the loss of reality and it's perception which is the point, if I may say so." He gave the slightest of bows and silently closed the door behind him as he left.

Blocking out what Alfred had just inferred, Bruce tried to figure Harvey's next move he sat, staring at the monitor for another hour when the phone interrupted.

"Meet me at Vauxhall stat."

"Is it Dick?"

"Maybe."

It took Batman fifteen minutes to suit up and get to the Opera Shell at the extreme far end of Gotham, Speedy was there ahead of him along with two GPD patrol cars and four officers. They were standing or crouched around something on the lip of the stage.

It was dark, several of the overhead street lights were out and the cars headlights were blocked by the people standing in the beams.

Closer he could see they were staring at something at their feet, a pile of blankets, rags or something.

Don't let it be...

God, no.

Batman appeared in the dimness, surprising no one.

Bending closer to see for himself he restrained a sigh of relief. It wasn't Dick, it wasn't part of him; it was his uniform, the shirt, tights, boots and the rest.

The police photographed the pile from every angle then allowed Batman to pick up the various pieces to examine them closer. Filthy, torn or ripped and bloodied and beneath the pile an manilla envelope, also photographed before anyone touched it.

Inside an 8 X 10 of Nightwing, nude, beaten, likely unconscious and in a bad way. The note paper clipped to the picture was simple and direct.

'I'm tired of this and you're boring me with your ineptitude. Find him by 9 tomorrow morning or the game is over.'

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

It was a countdown. They had eleven hours before Two-Face's deadline was up. At or by 9 AM Dick—Nightwing—might die.

**10 PM**

There were still no real clues about where Dick was being held. Even assuming that Batman was right and Nightwing was being moved from hideout to hideout, there was nothing conclusive to even indicate where he'd been yesterday or the day before.

And the clock was ticking.

Batman and Speedy went over the photos they'd received and the various pieces of his uniform, tested for fibers and whatever else things could be tested for but still came up blank.

Almost.

"Look at this."

"What?"

"On the toe of his left boot was this bit of mud, analysis indicated that it contained pollutants and toxins commonly found at dockyards."

"And...?"

"Caernaervon Docks isn't too far from Dick's apartment and they're known to receive the chemicals I've just isolated—they're were restricted by almost every other dockyard in the country because of their extreme volatility and potential danger to local residents and workers."

Roy picked up the thought. "Caernaervon Docks isn't too far from Route 61 where Dick was filmed being attacked. So it's possible that he'd been held somewhere close by, at least for a while. I'll go, you keep working here; nail the forensics, 'see if you can find anything else."

"I might need back up."

Roy stared for a millisecond. Bruce; Batman asking him for help? Well—crap. He didn't say anything, just nodded and sat in the passenger seat with a mental flash that this was Robin's seat. This was where Dick used to sit, Batman's right hand. Jesus.

They were there inside of twenty minutes. The dockyard was largely deserted, security lights were on and two guards were playing cards in their kiosk, not noticing the two costumed heroes passing through the shadows. Another ten minutes and they'd found an area close to the water which looked like the ground had been torn up, like a scuffle had taken place there.

"We saw Nightwing being abducted after he was drugged. What if they brought him here. Dragged him to—somewhere, a shack, a boat, a van, something—and he fought back? This could be where..."

Batman nodded. "Tire marks, here."

Yes this may well have been the transfer point, or at least one of them.

**10:38 PM**

"So they took him to where?"

"They had him in a van. If they transferred him here they might have used..." He looked around the yard. Of course. "A container."

"Y'mean like a truck container, a ship container?"

"'Makes sense. We need to check the records of the transport companies and find out what containers were here two nights ago and where they are now."

"You're fucking kidding me." Port Bludhaven was one of the scummiest and busiest ports on the East Coast, there could have been hundreds, maybe thousands of containers pass through the place in the last two days. "Can we get Superman to help? "

Batman reacted like he'd just smelled sewage. "Superman?"

"Y'know, x-ray vision? Might help?"

"Unnecessary."

"But..."

"You work with me, you do what I say. Check the yard, don't skip anything." He turned on his heel, headed for the records in the main office to check everything which had moved in the yard in the last forty-eight hours or so.

'Screw him' First Roy went to Dick Grayson's apartment to see, if by some miracle, he was there, asleep or hurt or whatever. He wasn't. Next he spoke to the landlady who was hanging around the entrance. No, she hadn't seen Mr. Grayson but then he kept to himself and didn't announce his schedule.

Still pissed at the Bat, Roy checked the dock area more closely, found footprints in the mud with tread marks that matched Dick's boots and then looked more. The footprints weren't as deep as they should have been and it looked like the adjacent prints were probably the people holding him up. Since they knew or suspected that Dick might be hurt that wasn't a surprise. Spinning his wheels on things they already knew, Speedy went to the office to speed up the record checking, opted not to get in the Bat's way and so questioned the guards.

"Two containers leaving like two nights ago? Yeah, sure, like I remember. Joe, you remember two containers leaving two nights ago?"

"Sure, I remember every frigging thing that comes and goes through this place—whaddaya, an wise-ass?"

Roy casually notched an arrow, a large arrow and equally casually let the business end point towards the head guard. "This is fairly important, gentlemen. I'd appreciate it, personally appreciate it of you might help me locate these two particular containers. If you have the time, I mean."

"I dunno..."

He twinged the bow string, a sharp almost musical sound. "Slippery sucker."

"You know what color or company they'd have been registered to?"

"'Can't say as I know that, no." The arrow let loose, making a hole in the wall about three inches from the second guard's head as it passed through and kept going. "Damn." He notched another arrow.

"Joe, Joey I think that might have been that guy—you remember the one—he was dressed real sharp, a real smooth character, if you know what I mean. The kind who don't sweat."

"A sharp dresser? By any chance is this the guy?" He held up a picture of Harvey Dent."

"That's him, you remember him Joe? He came in and had the papers all nice and neat. They looked okay so we signed out the containers; he had a couple of trucks and everything. 'Had they loaded and gone in about ten minutes."

"You wouldn't happen to know where they were headed, would you?"

" Nah. They leave here, they ain't our problem any more."

"You wouldn't mind if I made a copy of these papers, would you, boys? 'Appreciate it."

Two minutes later Speedy was outside, communicator in hand. "I found them. Meet me at the car."

**3:45 AM**

It took the two of them almost five hours but they had it narrowed down to two containers. One had been shipped to a warehouse in Bayonne, New Jersey, the second one had been trucked to the docks in Port Gotham. Both were close by, both has suspicious paperwork, both had left in the middle of the night and both were signed for by dummy companies fronting Mob family members. Unless the paperwork was lying, of course, in which case they could be fuck knew where but at least it was a place to start if they moved fast.

"You're a fucking moron, Bruce."

"Excuse me?" Speedy always got on his last nerve and this was no exception; rude, snotty addict.

"Both of these containers were signed out by the same person, idiot. Look at the signatures." Roy was right, though virtually illegible scrawls, one could just barely be made out to read 'H dennnnnnnnnnnn' and the other 'To fce'. "He sent out both to confuse us and I'd lay odds that one is a hell hole and the other is outfitted like the Ritz."

"Of course."

"Dude, you gotta get more sleep—Dick would have caught this when he was nine, f'chrissake and it would have taken him a hell of a lot less time. Five hours, I can't fucking believe it, what did you do, fall asleep? 'You know what's at stake here?"

Batman rubbed his face. Jesus, Speedy was right, he was an idiot and Dick would have seen this immediately.

"You take the one in Bayonne, I'll check the one in Gotham. Use one of the back up cars and keep in contact."

Batman missed Roy's agreeing nod as he spun the Batmobile's tires peeling on his way.

**4:17 AM**

Speedy arrived in Bayonne, found his way to the huge warehouse the container had been delivered to and realized as soon as he got out of his car that no one was there aside from a couple of drunks sleeping it off under a torn awning.

The place was immense, the size of at least a couple of football fields and equally clearly hadn't been used since forever—at least not for anything legal. He went in through a broken window stepping down to the floor which was littered with abandoned office furniture, broken pipes, cartons and general crap piled here and there. He found the remains of several cook fires, probably from homeless or teenagers using the place as a hangout.

It stank. It was filthy. There were a holes in the roof and he could hear rats (well, probably rats) rustling around the edges. It was also, at least at the moment, deserted.

Night goggles in place, saw the container opened along a wall.

Carefully, slowly he opened the back door and looked inside.

It was empty. Well, no one was inside but the place was a mess. A cot was against one wall with a thick blanket wadded up and looked like someone had used it as a pillow. There was a cheap card table and a couple of plastic garden chairs with the remains of several take out meals from a local chicken place now rotting and attracting flies. Oh, and the remains from a meal which looked cordon bleu as well. Two-Face, that made sense.

A piece of what looked like part of Dick's uniform was on the floor, just a small torn scrap, part black and part blue, maybe from his chest? It was hard to tell but it looked like there was dried blood on it and he wondered how it had been torn like that, the mental picture not a pretty one.

Then he found the note on the table, scrawled on a paper napkin. '_2 late. 2 help.'_

"Batman, you there?"

"Report."

"Not here but it looks like he was. Judging from the state of the dead food my guess is that this may have been their first stop with him. Any luck on your end?"

"I'll keep you informed. Join me unless you have another idea."

"How about calling in Superman some JLA members?"

"Not an option, Meet me at Gotham Docks. Out."

"Jackass."

**4:23 AM**

Batman clicked off his communicator, annoyed but containing it. Speedy wasn't his idea of what a hero should be and he never understood why Dick had considered him a friend, especially after that go around with heroin, his illegitimate daughter by that terrorist and every other mess he'd been involved in over the years.

Waste of space.

Focusing, he began his search, scanning the dockyard for anything out of place, anything that might indicate something out of the ordinary.

He thought he saw something on his left, something he just half caught in his peripheral vision. He turned, saw nothing then thought he half caught something on his right. Again, nothing.

Wishing like hell that he'd had more coffee, he jerked himself upright, not even realizing that he was slouching.'Wake up, dammit, this is Dick you're looking for!'

He started towards the main storage area, containers piled five or six high and going on for a quarter of a mile, ships docked behind them, enormous cranes silhouetted against the not quite as dark sky. He could be in any of these or none. He might be injured, in pain. He might be dead.

No.

That wasn't an option.

He'd be all right. He was always all right. It was what Dick did best; beat the odds.

He was fine or he would be as soon as they found him.

Harvey Dent wasn't a killer, he was fairly reasonable when you came down to it. It was Two-Face who was insane. If Harvey had Dick he's be fine. If it was Two-Face...

He'd be fine.

He was Nightwing, on of the best and most experienced heroes in the business.

He'd smile when they found him, he'd complain about how long it had taken them to find him and then he'd say he was hungry and want to stop someplace for food on the way to Leslie's clinic before he was checked out. That's how it always was. That's how this night would end.

It had to.

**5:48**

Roy found Batman using his heat seeking goggles to search through the endless stacks of containers, the sky was starting to lighten and it wouldn't be long before the dockyard started it's day—which could either be very good or very bad for them.

"Any luck?"

"Not yet. 'You?"

"Nothing. I'll take the stacks over on the other side. We have four hours left."

"I know what time it is."

Another twenty minutes passed and then; "Batman, I found something. Follow my signal."

Less than a minute later, "What?"

It was just another container, the bottom one in a five high stack, surrounded by hundreds of identical containers except this one had it's door slightly ajar. Moving silently, carefully, the two men approached, waited, listened and then pulled the door opened further, shining their lights inside.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: Okay, heads up here. This chapter contains a couple of deaths. No surprise, right? Deal with it or move along is all I'm sayin'.**

**Part Four**

**Conclusion**

**6:09 AM**

The container was neater than the last one, the one in Bludhaven but, in it's own way, was worse.

Incongruously, the interior of the thing was decorated like a high end hotel suite, the kind that rent for a thousand dollars a night. The rug was silk, the drapes over the nonexistent windows were velvet, the walls paneled in what looked like mahogany and resembled nothing so much as a high end men's smoking club. The furniture was plush and comfortable, all of which made the pool of blood on the floor and smeared on the walls more obscene.

There was a note on the inlaid table, written on heavy stock, possibly hand made.

_'I'm afraid that you've guessed wrong yet again and so have missed this particular boat which makes me two for two, if you catch my drift._

_I'd enjoy extending the game but a promise is a promise and at least part of me is a man of his word; nine o'clock is nine o'clock._

_Best wishes,_

_Harvey.'_

Bruce went to the blood, blotted a small sample. "I think this is Dick's."

"Of _course _it's Dick's."

"I'm going to have it tested to make sure."

"I realize you're sleep walking here but it would be helpful if you gave yourself a kick in the ass and helped find your ward or son or whatever the fuck he is this week."

Bruce started, shook himself, "That's what I'm doing, If this isn't Dick's then I don't want to waste time..."

"Yuh, whatever; you keep in touch, okay?"

"Of course."

Under three hours to the deadline and all they knew was that it looked bad, they still didn't know where Dick was and wherever he was, he was probably in a bad way and Bruce chooses now to be a somnambulist.

Fine, so saving 'Wing would be done without the Bat.

"Screw this." Roy pulled out his communicator and punched in speed dial number three. "I need you, get your ass to this location yesterday."

Wally was there in less than a minute. "Wassup?" Roy filled him in with three well chosen sentences. "You're kidding; the Bat is nuts. Okay, let's get this done; I'll call Superman back in and we'll find Nightwing seriously fast."

"Good."

Wally, being Wally, had Clark there inside of another minute.

"Why didn't you call me in yesterday? You know I'd have come—this is Dick, f'God'ssake and what's the problem with Bruce that he's not calling in everyone? 'Makes no sense."

"Bruce is Bruce, has to do everything himself and it's his way or the highway. Okay—we have less than two hours to find 'Wing. He's probably injured...:"

"Or worse."

"He's fine. He's Dick. Clark; you check the containers here and in Gotham. Wally, you look anywhere else you can think of which might have a tie to Two-Face." Superman left too fast to be seen, the small sonic boom the last remnant of his appearance.

"Twin Cities, two-lane highways, double wide trailers, second floors..."

"Go."

**7:16 AM**

"Roy, report."

"I'm in New York, headed downtown, Bruce."

"Why?"

"Clark has checked every container on the East Coat, Dick's not in any of them and there's no indication he's been in any of them other than the ones we've already located. His super-vision somehow traced tire tracks to New York and I'm en route to the area now. Wally's also on it. Hone in on my GPS."

"I told you to meet me at the docks. That blood was Dick's, like we thought."

"Jesus, dude—focus, will you? Dick's not in a frigging container, he's hurt, maybe worse and we have two hours to find him so either help or fuck off."

Bruce cut the connection.

**7:48 AM**

"Speedy, I'm in St Paul; no sign of Nightwing."

No shit, Sherlock. "I think he's on the East Coat, Wally."

"Me, too. I'll go back there." At least with Wally not much time was used on another wild goose chase.

"What about the rest of the JLA? We're running out of time here."

"Busy in the Pacific Rim with that Tsunami—turn on the news, CBS in New York. There's something just coming on."

Roy accessed channel 2, the New York affiliate, on his phone.

_'Superman arrived here in New York about twenty minutes ago. Witnesses say that he seemed to be searching for something or someone, making a methodical sweep of Manhattan and the Boroughs seeming to be using his super-vision to scan each building in the area as well as each and every vehicle using the various roadways, bridges and tunnels. _

_It's unknown what or whom he's looking for and he's declined to answer questions at this time._

_Commuters should expect rubber necking delays until further notice._

_Please stay tuned to this channel for updates.'_

"Has he reported in?"

"No, Roy—sorry, but he's zeroed in on New York so I'm heading there, too. Where's the Bat?"

"Don't even go there."

"But—what the hell's wrong with him? This is _Batman_ and he's dicking around when _Nightwing's_ life is on the line?"

"No time for this Wally, but there's a reason the JLA threw him out, okay?"

**8:19 AM**

Superman and the rest rendezvoused at the Empire State Building at his request.

"You find him?" Roy was now in charge.

"Maybe. There's an area that's lead shielded which never was before. I tried to get through but it's rimmed with Krytonite dust so..."

"So it's in our lap. Where?"

"Ground Zero." A stunned silence followed.

"But why...?"

"Twin Towers." Batman arrived late but he knew. Even with no sleep, he knew and was kicking himself that the obvious hadn't occurred to him—not that the others would know from his demeanor.

"Of course."

They were there in minutes.

It was a construction site, still largely a hole in the ground and still something of a tourist destination with flowers and offerings along the fencing. And in the excavation was a workman's trailer 'Double-tyme' Construction' painted on the side.

Of course.

"Superman, we can handle it from here."

"I'll stay."

Roy and the others nodded. Of course he would stay to see how Dick was. Wally did a quick recon around the trailer, unable to see through the shaded windows and detecting no sounds from inside before returning to the others. "But I think he's in there, I have a gut feeling."

"If he still had his uniform he'd be GPS'd..." Roy shook his head in frustration.

"I can hear breathing inside and three hearts beating." Clark was still doing what he could.

"C'mon, let's get him out." Roy notched an arrow and let fly. The instant it landed a couple of inches from the trailer it exploded, releasing thick grayish white smoke—tear gas. A few seconds after that the door opened and Harvey Dent calmly walked out, closing the door behind him.

"Welcome, gentlemen. I was just having some breakfast, might I offer you a double shot of latte? Perhaps a two-egg omelet, double side of bacon?" Harvey glanced at the rim above them "Perhaps we should invite the gentlemen and women of the fourth estate?"

Their presence hadn't gone unnoticed, reporters, cameramen, news vans surrounded them on all sides including helicopters with various news agencies logo's painted on the sides. They were a distance away, maybe fifty to a hundred yards depending on which side of the excavation hole they were positioned but dozens of cameras and microphones were trained on what was happening. The noise from overhead made talking difficult.

"You know, that tear gas really isn't good for your friend at this point. I'm afraid that he's not feeling well and this simply isn't helping."

"Let's bring him out so he can get some fresh air, then." Flash was trying for calm and reasonable.

"Oh, I don't think so." He checked his watch. "Eight-thirty, we have time."

"If it's all right, we'd like to make sure that he's all right."

"Your companion? Oh he's right inside but I'm afraid that he can't come out right now and, I assure you, he's not all right." Harvey laughed and rolled over to Two-Face, the quiet human laugh becoming a deformed smirk. "In fact, he's very much _not _all right. He's so much not all right, well—whatever, you want him? What the hell." He called into the closed trailer, "Bring him out." Then, an instant later. "On second thought; you want to double check on the idiot? One of you may go in to see." He paused a moment. "Speedy, I hear from my sources that you two are friends, you may have the pleasure." He called into the trailer again, "Someone's coming to look in the door, keep a gun on him and shoot if he tries to step foot inside."

Two-Face spoke confidently to the four heroes, "It's a double barreled shotgun, twenty-two caliber so do be careful."

Roy walked forward as the door cracked open.

A few more steps and he was able to gently push the door opened enough to see inside, coughing a little from the lingering tear gas. It was dark compared with the bright morning and difficult to see the dim interior but he could make out the underling holding the gun and a form on the floor, prone, unmoving.

"Nightwing, can you hear me?"

"Oh, I shouldn't think that he can at the moment, no."

"Is he dead?"

Superman shook his head. "No his heart is still beating, though weakly, he needs help immediately."

"I'm afraid that the Man of Steel here is right but unfortunately it seems that there isn't much you or your friends can do at the moment; you see, being me I made double sure that this little piece of entertainment would end the way I want and we all know that what I want probably isn't what you'd be happy with—a dichotomy as it were."

Roy glanced at Wally, willing him to simply use his super-speed to go in, grad Dick and get him to safety before Two-Face could do anything. Flash gave an almost imperceptible nod but "I wouldn't. Bad idea. You see I assumed that Flash would try that and, if you'll notice, my man inside the trailer has some backup." He looked up around the rim at the people staring at the scene being enacted below. There were at least three dozen armed men with guns trained on both the heroes and at groups of passerby's being held hostage. "Come gentlemen, you know I'd have two aces in the hole, as it were."

Harvey held out his arm and looked at his watch. "Eight-fifty-nine. We wait one minute."

"Harvey?" Batman's voice was quiet, calm Harvey Dent responded, Harvey could—sometimes—be reasoned with. "You've won. You have us stopped, our hands are tied. I admit it, you've beaten us. Superman can't do anything because of the kryptonite, Speedy has a gun on him, Flash and I won't endanger the innocent people. You've won. You can afford to be generous, compassionate."

"Of course I could but the simple fact is that I don't want to."

Thirty seconds.

"He can't do anything to you now."

"But he has done things to me and I have a double memory, you know." His personality flipped. "He's a bastard and I hate him—he screwed me over. Bastard. I want him dead."

Fifteen seconds.

Wally spoke softly. "Harvey, you know that you won't get away but if you give us Nightwing we'll ask the courts to show leniency. I promise that."

Five seconds.

"Promise? No double-cross?"

"No double-cross. We'll all speak to the judge, testify at the trial. Right?" The others nodded.

"My employees go free?"

"Yes." God, the press was going to have a field day with this but it didn't matter. They could always catch Dent again, they couldn't let Dick die.

Harvey/Two-Face debated with himself and then, after more thought, nodded. "Oh it would too easy to take him out. Sure, we'll have twice as much fun next time, right?" He half turned to the trailer, the door still open, Roy still standing in the opening. "Let him go." Then he shouted to the men above them. "Stand down. Double-time away."

Wally moved before anyone had a chance to react, carrying Dick to Titan's Tower faster than human eyes could follow and far enough away from the kryptonite that Clark could get close, knowing that the others and the NYPD would round up the criminals and the hell with the promises.

Wrapped in a blanket, he gently lay an unresponsive Nightwing on a couch, feeling for a pulse, trying not to flinch when he moved the blanket aside .

Dick's right side seemed pretty much untouched; there were a few minor bruises but nothing Dick would even notice after one of his normal workouts. His left side looked like it had been flayed, burned, beaten, pulverized. Probing gently Flash could feel broken bones, saw that his friend's left eye was likely blind. He reached for the carotid artery, moving a fold of the blanket out of the way, hoping to find evidence that, horrible as the injuries were, Nightwing had beaten the odds again.

Distracted, upset by the condition of his friend, even he didn't have time to react to the explosion.

It was the blanket, wrapped around Nightwing and wired to plastic explosives hidden inside, set to go off instantaneously when the section covering part of his face was moved. Semtex, C-4, it didn't matter, not with the amount used combined with the fact that both men were within inches of the detonation.

Superman blamed himself for the loss of both Nightwing and Flash. He should have known, he should have checked, he should have taken a second and looked. He knew he should, he was simply so relieved that Dick was out of that trailer, that it looked like it was over and that, however badly he was hurt they'd bring in the best doctors and he'd be all right.

He was always all right.

It was just the way these things always ended when he was involved.

It was.

Until now.

Roy blamed Batman.

Bruce was working exhausted and refused to acknowledge the fact, refused to accept that he was compromised. This was his fault, he was the one who delayed the offers, refused help.

Bruce might as well have taken a gun and shot Dick and Wally himself as far as Speedy was concerned.

The JLA refused Batman's readmission.

The press went wild. Between the arrest, or rather the rearrest of Harvey Dent, the public display by three members of the hero community and the story coming out of Nightwing's involvement (unwitting though it was)—all of it caught live from a hundred different angles; it was the story of the season.

The funerals were virtual State occasions, carried live and replayed endlessly on every channel. The expected ocean of flowers emptied florist shops up and down the entire East Coast The DVD sold in the millions as did the song specially written and performed by Springsteen with a ll profits going to charity.

Alfred, as always, did what he could to pick up the pieces.

"Master Bruce, I really must insist that you eat."

"No, thank you, Alfred. I have some work to finish and maybe when I'm done..."

"I must protest, sir. You did what you could. No one could have done more and you know as well as I that Master Dick (there was a glitch with saying the name, almost unnoticed) wouldn't place any blame on anyone, other perhaps than himself for being caught and, as out of place as that most certainly would be." He placed the loaded plate a fraction closer. "He, more than anyone, would insist that you carry on and leave self-incrimination with those who deserve it."

Bruce watched Alfred as he spoke, knowing intellectually that he was right. Resigned, he picked up his fork, registered Alfred's expression of satisfaction and slowly ate some of his meal.

Later, swerving from his planned patrol route he parked the Batmobile in a back alley and used jump-lines to his real destination.

The surprise wasn't that Batman was in Dent's cell, the surprise was that Two-Face was still alive afterward.

"Why didn't you kill him?" Commissioner Gordon didn't bother to turn around, sitting on his favorite chair in front of his fireplace, two inches of good scotch in hand.

"I will, but when the time's right."

9/23/10


End file.
